


#21: Take A Vacation of You Cell Phone, Internet, and Television Once a Year

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [21]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Get Together, M/M, feeeeeelings, using their words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't find Phil, which is weird. But Natasha knows where Phil is, and Clint figures out how to use his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#21: Take A Vacation of You Cell Phone, Internet, and Television Once a Year

Clint hadn’t been able to reach Phil, which was unusual. The junior agents whispered that he was born with his phone surgically attached to his hand. If he wasn’t on the phone coordinating ops, he was checking email. Phil was Fury’s one good eye, and was always available. 

He hadn’t worried when he’d gotten Phil’s voice mail when Clint had called to see if Phil wanted to come over for _Dog Cops_ and homemade pizza. Phil was a busy guy even if they were between ops as a team. Clint hadn’t worried when his email asking about some random procedure hadn’t been responded to within an hour, because, again, busy guy. He’d checked with Natasha, who was better at negotiating the rumor mill than he was (she was a far better spy than he’d ever be), and that’s when the concern began to set in.

“He asked for time off,” Natasha reported, poking at her salad in the commissary. 

Clint froze, his fork full of chicken and brown rice burrito bowl stopping halfway to his mouth. Phil never requested time off. In the eight years since Clint had joined SHIELD, Phil had been on vacation twice, and it had been forced. “What?”

“Pam in HR said he requested time off. Put the paperwork in himself,” she explained, studying Clint. “Why?”

Clint shook his head, returning to his food. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, while having a quiet internal panic. He could swing by Phil’s when he was done for the day; there wasn’t anything weird about checking up on a friend, right? Maybe he was seriously ill. Maybe something had happened to his mom. Nothing had gone majorly wrong on their last mission: no one had been injured, everything had gone according to plan, and they’d even had a little downtime at the end before extraction, and they’d just hung out at the safe house. If maybe Clint had fallen asleep on Phil’s shoulder, and then woken up with Phil cuddled against him, well, Clint just filed it away as a happy accident next to the place where he concealed his feelings for his friend, handler and boss, the first person in a long time to actually care about his well-being (and Clint knew he should probably talk to someone about whether what he felt was him or some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome settling in). 

Natasha’s look softened. “He’s at home,” she said after a moment. “I asked Nick.” She clarified without prompting. 

“Nick?” he asked, raising an eyebrow; Natasha rarely referred to Fury as Nick in public. His mind worked over the implications of the information; when Phil did take time off, he left the city. 

Natasha shrugged, but her eyes sparkled. She was happy, and Clint really didn’t need further details. She sat her fork down and tapped the back of his hand lightly. “I know you asked me to not let you ‘fuck anything up,’” she said, mimicking his slightly stoned voice. “But I think that it’s time you be a little less selfless and talk to Phil.”

Clint shook his head. “If he was as receptive as you seem to think, wouldn’t he answer my calls or email?”

Smiling softly, she patted his hand again. “Sometimes people do take vacations from their electronic devices.”

Clint snorted. That didn’t sound like Phil at all.

“Clint, listen. I love you like a brother. I literally owe you my life, more than once. Yes, Phil has been good for me, given me trust, a job, and made it so others in this organization trust and respect me,” she said seriously. “But he makes you happy. Not just because he’s given you a place to belong and shown you the first human kindness you can remember in a very long time.” She smiled softly. “And when you’re not looking, he looks at you the same way.”

Clint started to shake his head in denial, but she took his hand this time. “SHIELD has no fraternization policy, you know that.”

Clint nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly at what he perceived as a nonsequitor, trying to figure out where she was going. 

“Phil outranks you,” she reminded him quietly. “Not by much, not really. But he still sees himself as in a position of authority over you. Do you really think, with what he knows of your past, that he would make the first move? Or not feel guilty for what he perceived as taking liberties?”

Clint flipped through his mental library of interactions with Phil, trying to come up with anything that could possibly be perceived as taking liberties. He was drawing a blank, but he did know Phil, and what Natasha said made sense.

Natasha gave his hand a squeeze. “I have a meeting with those analysts who don’t believe my intel from the Gabon mission.” She rose and gathered her tray before ducking to kiss his cheek. “Go talk to him,” she whispered before she pulled away.

Clint sat at the table for a long time after she’d left.

**

Clint hadn’t been this nervous since the first time he’d performed with the circus under the threat of a severe beating if he missed even a little bit. He hadn’t called ahead; he’d just made his way to Phil’s apartment from SHIELD, stopping at a corner market to pick up a few things so that he at least had the pretense of offering to cook Phil dinner (Phil had provided for him often enough, and it wouldn't be the first time Clint had presented Phil with a meal by way of peace offering). 

He knocked on Phil’s door and waited, hearing silence beyond. Eventually, shuffling footsteps approached the door, like the person inside was reluctant to face what was on the other side. 

Phil was dressed in worn flannel pants and a t-shirt that had been washed so many times the logo was nearly washed clear away. He wore thick socks and his glasses, and had a book folded around his finger, which probably marked his page. Phil   
looked utterly unsurprised to see Clint. He stepped back and let Clint in without a word.

It wasn’t the first time Clint had been to Phil’s, but he looked around anyway. He hadn’t expected to see the afghan he’d made tossed across Phil’s sofa like it had been used recently. The television was off, and unlike the other times he’d been in Phil’s apartment, the laptop, tablet, and phone were nowhere to be seen. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked as he trailed Phil inside.

Phil shook his head. “No, I,” he stopped and cleared his throat. “I was just getting ready to order something.”

Clint brandished his bag of groceries. “You mind?”

Phil shook his head and followed Clint into the kitchen. 

They were quiet as Clint worked at the kitchen counter, slicing and dicing vegetables to make a hearty soup with a bag of dried pasta he found in Phil’s cupboard, and biscuits he’d pulled together from a bag of flour in the freezer and butter he’d brought with him. While the biscuits baked and soup simmered, Clint turned and leaned against the counter, watching Phil watching him. 

“Are you okay?” Clint asked after a long few moments of watching each other in silence. “I mean, you didn’t take leave because you’re dying or something, right?”

One side of Phil’s mouth twitched up where he sat at the small two-person table tucked against the wall. “No, I’m not dying.”

“And your mom’s okay?”

“My mom? Bar-Clint, how do you know my mother?” Phil asked. 

“I don’t. I just…you don’t take time off,” Clint said, looking at his toes. “I thought…and then you didn’t answer the phone or respond to email and…”

“And you thought something had happened,” Phil said, finishing Clint’s sentence.

Clint glanced up as he nodded. 

“My mom’s fine, Clint,” Phil said quietly. “I just…I needed some time. To think.”

“About what?” Clint asked before he could second guess himself. 

“About a lot of things,” Phil said with a sigh. “My career. SHIELD. About you.”

Clint looked up completely at that, and met Phil’s gaze. “Me?”

Phil’s smile was self-deprecating. “I’ve spend my entire adult life with SHIELD,” Phil explained. “And it wasn’t until recently that I’ve questioned my place within the organization.”

Clint braced himself against the counter. “Is this…” he paused, swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. “Is this because you outrank me?” he asked quietly, Natasha’s words from lunch echoing in his mind. 

“Partially,” Phil said. “And partially because I need to get my shit together so we can keep working together without me compromising us both in a moment of epic stupidity.”

“Phil?” Clint asked, not following. 

Phil rose from the seat he’d taken to watch Clint cook, and approached slowly, like he was walking toward a spooked, injured animal. Clint remained braced against the counter, watching. 

“I don’t want you to think I’ve been taking advantage of you,” Phil said quietly as he approached. “That I’ve been showing affection towards you just to get in your pants and drop you cold. I honestly care about you. At first, it was just because you needed someone to care, and you deserved it. But I got to know you,” Phil said, taking another stop. “And you’re…you’re funny. And smart. You see things no one else does. You’re a tactician and a marksman, and you’re so completely loyal and giving, even to people who just want to use you.” Phil stopped, barely a handsbreadth away from Clint. “I like spending time with you. I like you,” he said.

Clint could feel the heat of Phil’s body, he was standing so close. “You weren’t answering your phone,” Clint said into the moment of quiet, aware that he was repeating himself.

“I was trying to decide if I wanted to let things continue as they were or say something,” Phil said softly. “After the last mission…” he trailed off. 

Clint thought back to the last night in the safe-house, falling asleep on each other, waking up warm and comfortable and recognizing the person with him on the couch as safe home phil and how well he’d slept even on a lumpy couch fully clothed.   
“Oh.” The pieces fit together. 

Phil nodded. “I can’t let my feelings for you get in the way. So far, I’ve been able to do my job, but-“

Clint took the half step forward that separated them. “They’re not just your feelings,” he said, his voice rough as he reached out with one hand and cupped Phil’s cheek before leaning in and kissing him softly. 

The oven timer buzzed and they jumped apart as if shocked. Clint spun on his heel for the potholder on the counter and retrieved the biscuits from the oven. When he turned back around after leaving them on the range top, Phil was still standing there, color high on his cheeks, watching Clint like he couldn’t believe that just happened. 

Clint stepped forward and kissed him again lightly. “Come on,” he said, sliding a hand down Phil’s arm to tangle their fingers together. “We can talk about this later. For now, we need to eat while it’s warm.”


End file.
